


Apologia for the Unthinkable

by aTasteofCaramell



Series: Requiem [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Dramatic Irony, Feels, Fluff, Gen, I really hate Voldemort for what he did to Peter, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, POV Peter Pettigrew, Relationship Study, Sympathetic Peter Pettigrew, in which Peter Pettigrew is a bit tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 06:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13289040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: Peter Pettigrew had three friends. They each fulfilled him in their own way.





	Apologia for the Unthinkable

Peter Pettigrew had three friends. They each fulfilled him in their own way.

Remus reassured him. Every day he was plagued with a thousand tiny fears – not fitting in, being laughed at, not making friends, being unliked, failing projects, failing classes, failing life. But Remus never seemed to think any of those fears were valid. “I can’t do it!” Peter would wail helplessly, the simplest of levitation charms being beyond his reach. And Remus would put down his own work and say patiently, “Yes, you can. Just keep trying.” And he would screw up his eyes and concentrate, and James and Sirius would laugh, but Remus guided his hand with his own until, finally, the magic took shape. Remus never laughed at him; Remus sought him out and asked him to come places; a severe contrast to his older cousins, who always groaned about bringing him along.

Remus ensured he was never forgotten. Remus was the reason he fell asleep his very first night thinking, awestruck and disbelieving of his good fortune, _I have a friend!_ And he wrote his mother and told her so. On the very first day, he’d made a friend. Short, chubby, stupid Peter had made a friend. Take _that_ , Aunts and Uncles who looked at him and shook their heads and said he’d never be well-liked anywhere _._

And when Peter confided in Remus, confessing secret likings like admitting dirty secrets—like his favorite team being the decidedly un-cool Yorkshire Yumbos—and Remus just said casually, “What’s wrong with that?” and Peter felt a swell of _belonging_. Or when Remus assisted Sirius with creating huge JAMES POTTER IS #1!!!!!!!! banner for his first Quidditch game after making the Gryffindor team as Chaser and he insisted that Peter be the one who held the side opposite Sirius as they marched down to the Quidditch pitch. Remus, with his shy smile and his tired eyes and his endless appreciation for Peter’s help before and after full moons. Remus, who shared with Peter his dark secret, who trusted him so fully, who depended on him—slow, clumsy, useless Peter—who welcomed him gladly into his life, as though he were important and valuable.

And then one came along that enfeebled such childish insecurities.

*

Sirius empowered him. He was an unapproachable icon, the essence of royalty, an animal of easy grace and charm. Peter’s natural state around such people was to become tongue-tied and stumble over his own feet. But with Sirius it was different: around Sirius, instead of being pushed further away, Peter found himself drawn further in, as if Sirius’s aura was enveloping him and lending him his qualities. Around Sirius, it got easier to smile at girls, and they were more likely to smile back. With Sirius, he could walk with his head held high, arms swinging at his sides, and the crowds parted around him.

Sirius’s eyes glowed with eager mischief and savage fun and Peter found himself emboldened. His wand, so often making a fool of him, would do as he asked and trip the passing Slytherin student, and Sirius would laugh with him. Any criticisms lobbed Sirius’s way simply bounced off his shoulders like weak jinxes. When someone made fun of his height, Peter could just sneer at them: it didn’t matter what they thought. He was friends with _Sirius Black_ , and they were just jealous. Take _that_ , Aunts and Uncles who laughed behind their hands and said he’d never get anywhere.

Sirius had a purpose and a will in his life; and he lent some of that purpose to Peter; he was needed, for lookouts and for distractions and for fitting the key into the lock that James swiped from Slughorn’s desk while Sirius, James, and Remus did crowd control in the corridors. When he first became a rat, it was Sirius who rubbed his palms together and said, “Oh, _excellent!_ ” with a far-off, hungry look in his eyes, and Peter knew that Sirius already had plans for him.

In second year, when McGonagall swooped down, catching him, Sirius, and James setting loose an entire box of Fanged Frisbees in Filch’s office crying, “Detention! All three of you!” and Peter turned to look at her with his mouth open, and she snapped, “Yes, you too, Pettigrew!” and then, “Don’t stand there grinning like it’s a badge of honor! It’ll be hard work, I assure you!” but he knew that it was, indeed, a badge of honor to be put in detention—not because of the detention itself, but because of the following day when everyone learned of what it was they’d done, and it wasn’t what “Potter and Black” had done, but what “Potter and Black and Pettigrew” had done. And for the first and only time in his life, he was king of a shared destiny, a lover of his own lot in life, a boy confident of his own future.

And then one came along that broke his weak illusion of control.

*

James protected him. Peter was in the habit of spending his days looking over his shoulder, his only hope of stopping a hex or jinx was to simply dodge it. But even that was generally a hopeless endeavor. And so as a young boy, when his cousins laughingly bewitched books to chase him around his own house hitting him over the head, when he went crying to the adults his aunts said kids will be kids, and his mother impatiently told him to dry his tears, the books hadn’t even hurt him, and to put more effort into learning to put his magical instincts (they existed, somewhere, she said) to use, these were the times where he would hide under his bed and close his eyes and dream, wishing with all his heart that he could have impenetrable armor, that he would stop being the easy, forgettable target.

And then one fateful day in second year when someone said, laughing (they were always laughing), “No, really I can, look—” and he felt a flash of heat in the back of his neck and felt tiny spines burst from his skin all over his body. And he whimpered in spite of himself, frightened. Sirius saw it happen and let out a startled laugh. But James heard him and turned around. And he didn’t laugh. He raised his eyebrows, drawing his wand so subtly it looked terribly non-threatening.

“Who did that?” he asked Sirius, in an unconcerned voice. Then Sirius grinned in a very threatening way and pointed. There was a flash of light, and then multiple, and the new victim screamed as boils erupted across his face and swelled until his face was hideously disfigured and bursting with puss, and then James’s wand did an easy swooping motion and the student was knocked off his feet and his limbs jerked wildly on the floor. And James said very loudly, and still casually, to the surrounding crowd of very silent students, “Anyone who messes with my friends messes with me. Got it?”

He was the friend of James Potter. Take _that_ , Aunts and Uncles that shrugged and said he would never be known for anything. James had become his armor, extending beyond his mere presence, coating Peter with an unshakable reputation that was with him throughout his years at school.

And then one came along that made Peter realize that James could not protect him forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologia: a formal written defense of one's conduct


End file.
